


Velveteen Touch

by birdbrains



Series: Old ERF [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Body Horror, Crying, Dehumanization, Gen, Hurt Some Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Neglect, Past Torture, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:59:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdbrains/pseuds/birdbrains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was so good that Bucky thought viciously to himself--how <i>dare</i> you, Soldier, how dare you cry when you get this done for you? And then, no surprises, he immediately started crying again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is an coda/side story thing that I was TRYING to not work on until I finish the main story but...I keep working on it and involuntarily completed a short section. This takes place a while after the nonexistent end of "Goin' on a Holiday."

Calm down, nobody wants that.

He was surprised he remembered, but he had remembered a while back. It had been pretty early. He was restrained a lot of the time. He was basically living in a pile of his own shit, which wasn't the greatest. His stump tended to ooze a lot of mysterious fluids. Well, details are nobody's friend when it comes to this stuff, but the point is things weren't all that great.

They were starting to get him ready for the amputation. It was a process for several reasons, not all of which he was able to follow, but one of them was that they needed to clean him. So they had him shackled to this table--pretty loosely, so they could move him around, and he didn't fight too much, he wanted to get clean too. This guy was trying to push his legs up so this other guy could wash behind them, and it was stupid, but it's really not a good feeling when someone bends you in half like that, and he panicked. He started thrashing, trying to kick them off him.

He made noises--he didn't have much of a tongue at that point, it would come back later. He was scared of being touched there. He still had his dick and in a lot of other ways, he was too particular about things.

They all jumped back, and one of the guys hit him in the head with something heavy. It wasn't a big thing, just a reminder. It didn't hurt bad. They all laughed, though.

"Calm down," the guy said, coming back over, and it had already worked--he was still now, he was embarrassed. Because he knew before the guy said it--"What do you think we're going to do? Nobody wants that, you think we're crazy? Nobody's desperate enough to stick it in you."

God, he was lucky they were even washing him. He was so lucky.

///

Steve started knocking on the door of the closet. "Hey, Bucky? Soldier? It's Steve Rogers. Can I come in there with you?"

"You can't fit in here," Bucky said.

"Just you watch," Steve said, but he couldn't. "We'll figure out something. Maybe I could put my head in your lap--you probably don't want me that close to--"

"Yeah, no," Bucky said. Steve was the best.

"Listen to this," Steve said. "You could go out of the closet, I'll sit in there, and you come back and sit in my lap. Either direction, we could kiss or not. Do we have a plan?"

"That's a pretty good plan," Bucky said.

They situated themselves.

Bucky figured if he was facing Steve and they started kissing, Bucky would end up trying to start something. The other way, maybe he'd start trying to grind on Steve, but it seemed a little less likely, and Steve could stop it easier. Steve'd developed this thing about how he didn't want to get off when Bucky was upset. He just took it the wrong way. Bucky didn't mean anything bad by it, he just wanted to pay Steve back, but Steve would get so weird and awful when Bucky went for his fly that it wasn't worth it.

But he felt a little bad, at loose ends, with Steve wrapped around him, holding him. It was so nice and there wasn't anything he could give Steve back for it. Steve didn't want anything like that.

"What's the matter?" Steve said.

"I could ask you the same thing," Bucky said. "Why'd you come in here anyway? Was I screaming?"

"Sort of," Steve said.

Bucky felt his face. "Oh, Jesus."

"Surprise, you're a human."

"This is bullshit," Bucky said.

///

The crying terrified him. Well, no, that would be stupid--but it was one of the things he kept using the word terrified about, when there was nothing terrifying about it. A few days before he'd tried to make up a list of things that should legitimately terrify him, so he wouldn't shoot his wad over nothing. The first thing he thought of was hurting kids, which he couldn't even get himself to write down on paper, so that was a real contender. Hurting Steve, or Sam. Really, hurting anyone who he thought of as having a face; getting a blowjob; and getting flayed. Those were the big three even though the second and third ones shouldn't bother him that much because, if everything was in working order, he could just clock out and come back in later and it would be over. If you have to hurt someone and you clock out, they'll still be dead when you come back in. The only one you're sparing is you.

He'd definitely choose the blowjob or getting flayed, but he wasn't sure which. It's hard not having skin. Everything hurts--sound, light, air. Of course, all those things are doable if you're not in front of a mirror staring at how ugly you look. A blowjob would be hard if it was someone you cared about and they wanted you to like it. They might keep stopping and starting again when they saw you were clocking out. It would go on forever and then they wouldn't like you anymore because you couldn't like it.

But that's not relevant. Bucky didn't have to go through any of those things and he should have been happy, because there are scary things in the world and crying's not one of them. For fuck's sake. It horrified him--no, another stupid word. But he felt he couldn't stand it, losing control that way and over stupid, trivial things. Not a single thing in his life was worth crying about. He'd made up a list about that, too: he had food, he could do anything he wanted, he didn't have to hurt anyone--and then he'd stalled, because he felt guilty even thinking about all the things he wasn't grateful for.

He'd been overflowing with gratitude for a long time, drowning in it--and in the last few weeks it had all drained out, leaving him mysteriously sad and angry. They were states he didn't particularly care to be in or expose anyone else to.

Next on the list would have been Steve--probably several items related to Steve but definitely this, Steve's mouth licking and kissing where Bucky's neck turned into his right shoulder, and Steve's arms around him loosely--not out of his own preference, either, but because one time Bucky had snapped, "Stop  _crushing_ me, Steve, I don't need an iron lung." In the dark, in the closet, which couldn't be comfortable for him.

It was so good, the warmth, the darkness, Steve's clever and soft mouth, that Bucky thought viciously to himself--how  _dare_ you, Soldier, how dare you cry when you get this done for you? And then, no surprises, he immediately started crying again. Not as bad as it could be, not keening, but impossible to hide at close range.

And he couldn't hide it if he reached over and snapped a few fingers to teach himself a lesson, so he couldn't even shut himself up that way. That kind of thing typically helped him remember that things weren't that bad.

Steve pulled as far back away from Bucky as he could, which thankfully wasn't far. "You okay, Buck? Should I do something different?"

"No," Bucky choked out, "I liked it." It was hard to get the words out of his stupid mouth and he dearly hoped Steve didn't take that for insincerity. But Steve was as good as he could be; he ducked his face back into Bucky's shoulder and talked into the back of his neck.

"I'd hate to see what you do when you don't like something, Buck," he said mildly. Me, too, Bucky thought, and he had a bad feeling that he'd be learning more and more about the subject. With great effort he pared himself down to sensation: Steve's lips and tongue on his neck, Steve's thumb stroking along the inside of Bucky's wrist. Dark, quiet. "How's that for you?" Steve asked.

"Great, except you're talking," Bucky said.

"Nothing's perfect, is it," Steve said.

"No," Bucky said. He squeezed Steve's hand.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky casually remembers being tortured and mutilated and being afraid of being raped. He gets upset about having negative emotions and considers self injuring.


	2. Casserole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You don't have to say anything about it," Sam said. "Didn't mean you had to. I know--"
> 
> "Yeah, you know, everyone and their cow knows," Bucky said. "I'm not so good at defying orders, surprise!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This definitely isn't going to be in the Finished Product because it's way too on the nose, but I had fun working them out in this scene so I'm posting it for now.
> 
> Basically a big content warning for gross things--I'm grossed out by nothing so it's hard to know what to warn for, but it's an extension of the flashback in the previous chapter. Medical/physical neglect.

"Do you think I'm a good looking guy?" Bucky asked. Sam's eyebrows shot up.

"Why do you ask?"

"Are you not gonna answer?"

"Well, I don't date, so I just want to--" Bucky started laughing and Sam covered his face with his hand. "Okay, laugh on, you just sounded like--"

"You know I'd be trying if I wasn't spoken for," Bucky said. "And I didn't know if you liked guys."

"I don't want to talk about it," Sam said. "Well, I guess I gotta tell you I do, so you'll know that I mean it when I say yes. You're a hot commodity. God, that is a really badly chosen turn of phrase when I've been telling you you're a person--"

"I'd rather be a hot commodity than an ugly person," Bucky said.

"Jesus Christ, Bucky!" Sam was laughing in earnest. Bucky enjoyed watching him for a minute, then said, "That wasn't what I was thinking about."

"What were you thinking about?"

"I asked because I know I'm not," Bucky said.

"Hmm," Sam said. "What's up with that?" Bucky appreciated that Sam didn't reassure him. Steve wouldn't have either.

"Well," Bucky said. He didn't want to make it hard on Sam like he had on Steve. He knew Steve could take it--or maybe he couldn't, even, and Bucky should have been more careful with him too. It was hard, though; there wasn't really a nice way to say it.

"You don't have to say anything about it," Sam said. "Didn't mean you had to. I know--"

"Yeah, you know, everyone and their cow knows," Bucky said. "I'm not so good at defying orders, surprise!"

"Yeah, okay. Did I mention I'm sorry about that?"

"You're embarrassed for me to see  _you_ \--come on, like anyone could be as embarrassed as I am after what happened."

"I'm not gonna say it's no big deal, 'cause I'm sure it is to you, but I just--" He spread his hands out. "I mean, do I have to tell you that I don't think any less of you? I don't, Bucky. The point is, you don't have to tell me anything."

"I want to," Bucky said. "I just don't know how to say it politely."

"That's not too important," Sam said. "I mean, I actually listen for a living and part of the job is being hard to shock."

"Okay, well I was physically helpless a lot and they hardly ever tried to fuck me. That makes me feel like there's probably something wrong with me." Sam looked a little shocked but he covered it quickly. "Yeah, it's sick," Bucky said. "I'm not too crazy to realize how sick it is that I wanted that."

"I don't think it's sick," Sam said. "You were probably lonely."

"I  _was_ really lonely," Bucky said. "It was--" He almost choked on the words,  _it was horrible_ ; he clamped his hand over the bridge of his nose so hard he almost broke it. Sam didn't say anything. Bucky swallowed, painfully, and said, "That's not the whole reason."

"Yeah?" Sam said.

"I don't know if I can," Bucky said. "I want to."

"Okay."

"I didn't mean to...put this on you when you're in a bad way."

"I'll stop it if I want," Sam said. "Making myself useful helps sometimes."

"Me too," Bucky said.

"I figured."

Bucky said carefully, "I used to smell really bad for the first, uh, year or so, I think it was? 'Cause I was in a cell and I didn't have a toilet or get a chance to wash up very much. I didn't--I usually had to do what they wanted to earn showers, and you know, I wouldn't, not at first, so--" He shrugged. "And all the guards would talk about how bad it smelled in there, and they'd...they'd draw straws for who had to clean it, or if orders came down I needed to be cleaned, who had to clean me."

He glanced at Sam's kind, open face, which, if Bucky thought about it for a minute, became very unnerving--it was a front to make Bucky calm, and that made Bucky think about all the things that lay behind the first layer of skin. He made himself simple, like he used to be. He let himself be calmed by the surface.

"They wouldn't look at me. It wasn't only how I smelled and how dirty I was. They'd--a lot of the time they'd ask someone else to come in and keep them company. I couldn't talk because they smashed my tongue. It really bothered them when I tried to talk, but sometimes I'd kind of panic and--forget I couldn't talk, and--I never wanted to scare them away, I liked the company too, I didn't want to be alone with me either. Besides if I scared them they'd usually decide to hose me instead of cleaning me with a rag and I--" he smiled--"well, for reasons that probably shouldn't be discussed in polite company--getting sprayed with water hurt like a bitch."

He looked to Sam and Sam said, "You know I was a medic, right? I mean, say what you want to say, but I'm not polite company."

"Okay," Bucky said. "I had sores."

He looked at Sam again. He wasn't sure what to make of his expression; Sam was chewing his lip, but his eyes were were clear and calm looking.

"So what do you think?" Bucky said.

"Hm," Sam said. "I'm thinking those guys are probably dead, or very old, huh? Almost all the way there." He looked at a can of soda sitting on the table next to the couch. He seemed surprised by the sight of it. He took an experimental sip and winced. "Flat as a pancake."

"That'll happen if you leave it out," Bucky said.

"I'm pretty angry," Sam said. "I can tell you that because I'm not working. Angry at them, not at you."

"I know you're not mad at me, I'm making you a casserole," Bucky said.

"You're hanging a lot on that casserole," Sam said. "It didn't look all that special to me."

"It's getting special in the oven," Bucky said. "It's getting cooked in there. You know about ovens, right?"

He smiled at Sam. He wouldn't ask, but he wanted to hear more about Sam being angry. Sam looked sidelong at Bucky for a minute, and said, "Seriously, I can't think of a lot more fucked up than making someone live in their own filth and then complaining that they smell bad. It sounds like a horror movie."

"Yeah, that part is from a horror movie, I was just trolling," Bucky said.

"How do you know about trolling?" Sam said. "Don't answer that. I hate when you guys try and be hip."

"We do it for the lulz," Bucky said. "Is that how you say it?"

Sam put his hand over his face. When he took it off he said, "You want to hear the rest of what I think? No pressure--I have no idea what I'm talking about, to be clear. I never counseled POWs."

"I'm not exactly a POW," Bucky said.

"That kind of ties into what I was going to say," Sam said.

"Well, shoot," Bucky said. If he kept making tangents he wouldn't get to hear what he wanted without asking, and he still wasn't going to ask. "Well, go on."

"Don't get mad like Steve does when I ask him if he knows what words mean," said Sam. "Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is?"

"Yeah, I read about that," Bucky said. "I think Steve has it about me."

"I can't even tell if you're joking," Sam said.

"Steve's sense ofromance is all fucked up," Bucky explained. "His idea of a date is sitting at the table watching me cry into a bowl of oatmeal. Except I feel like he was maybe like that before. Maybe I Stockholm Syndromed him when we were kids." His mouth kept getting away from him. "Anyway. You were saying."

"Well," Sam said. "Thing is I'm not working, and I wouldn't be working with you, but I guess I'd say I'm concerned about the way you frame that stuff, right? Not that  _you're_ doing it, but...I'm guessing, for them, making you feel a lot of weird shit about your body was a feature, not a bug. So you'd have less of a stable identity. With me so far?"

"Yeah, I figured that was why," Bucky said. "I've broken people, so, sure I know I've had a pretty bang-up job done on myself, but...still. They did it really good."

"Yeah," Sam said. "I mean, they did that to you, and they also did this to you, where you feel--I guess what you're trying to tell me is you feel like you're gross or something. And you know how they did that, but they still did it, and I'm not gonna make it go away by saying what I want to tell you, which is that nothing they did reflects on you and there's nothing bad about you in that story. Wanting people to be around or give you a bath or find you attractive is, you know, pretty regular."

"Yeah, I know," Bucky said and he appreciated that Sam didn't ask why Bucky had wasted his time having the whole conversation if he already knew there wasn't anything wrong with him. He felt a little wrung out, but also a little happy, like he could remember what Sam had said later, when his head was really far in it.

It's hard sometimes, when you don't have much to pay anyone back for their trouble; but Bucky didn't have that problem, for once, because he knew his casserole was going to be really good.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Context: Sam is not doing so good. Neither is Bucky, but in a completely different way. After avoiding Sam he finally comes over to make him a casserole.

"When I was fifteen, this lady Kimmy lived in my building. She didn't work and I'd go up to her apartment and we'd play Magic together."

"You did magic tricks?" Bucky said.

Sam actually laughed, which was a relief. "No, it's like...a card game, with wizards and dragons and stuff. Kimmy got me into it."

"Sounds cool," Bucky said.

"Oh, it's so cool," Sam said. "Only the coolest kids at school play it. Anyway, I'd go up and play with Kimmy maybe once a week. And Crystal--the girl who told me people get pregnant from being in love with each other--she would come around and visit Kimmy a lot. But she didn't even live in the building anymore at that point--she lived in fucking Brooklyn."

"What the hell?" Bucky said.

"Calm down, I'm just saying it's kind of far away from Harlem 'cause they didn't even act like they were friends. Not like they liked each other, anyway. Crystal would just come in and start, like, asking Kimmy why she didn't get a job or go to the park and she'd be on her to eat some fruit instead of just cookies and crackers. Kimmy would go along with it but she didn't act like she really liked it."

"Crystal sounds like a busybody," Bucky said.

"That's what I thought," Sam said. "Anyway, one day I, um...I hadn't seen Kimmy for a few weeks, because she didn't answer the door, but I knew she was in there because I heard the TV turning on and off--and besides, she never went out, not really."

"Was Crystal still coming by?"

"She tried. But anyway, I went up and..." Sam rubbed his hand over his forehead. "Well, actually my granddad sent me up because she didn't pay her rent. He was like, 'I don't know about that girl. She's peculiar.' My granddad was a super awful person, by the way. Anyway, I went up and she didn't answer the door, and I knocked and knocked and knocked. I tried yelling like Crystal did, and no one answered but I had the keyring, so I went in and, well."

"Oh," Bucky said.

"I just thought she was sleeping," Sam said. "I mean, I hadn't seen a dead body before."

"Yeah," Bucky said.

"We've both seen a lot of them now, huh?" Sam said. That startled Bucky; he never thought of Sam that way. "Anyway," Sam said, tilting his head back, looking at the ceiling, "I always used to think about--well, it just didn't make sense to me at that age. Why would somebody be like that? Why would they do that? Why didn't I--I mean, she liked me, sometimes I was the only person she seemed to like, so why didn't I try to get her out of the house and doing things?"

"Well, you were just a kid," Bucky said, which seemed to be what people said in these situations.

"Hmm," Sam said. "Well, I have...saved a lot of people, and fixed a lot of people, since then, but I just...I get that sometimes, maybe there's some people who just--" He wiggled his fingers around the side of his head. "Can't be fixed." His voice cracked.

"Don't you dare," Bucky said. He was surprised at how loud his voice came out.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sam said. "Well, sure I do, but I'm not going out that way. Besides, you guys are Catholic! You would be so upset!"

"Oh, come on," Bucky said. "Even I think that's bullshit." He and Steve had had a two hour fight because Steve said it would be okay for Bucky to take Communion without going to confession.

"It's not...I really wouldn't," Sam said. He smiled sideways at Bucky. "I mean, it's my job, I know all the mechanical parts. It'll pass. But I still can't really wrap my head around the concept. Why can't you go outside, Sam? Why don't you want to do anything fun? You used to like fun, now you wouldn't recognize it if it actually punched you in the face."

Bucky swung at him lightly. "Here I am."

"If you say so."

"I guess I never put it together," Bucky said. "I mean, I didn't realize that you were a--" He stuck his hands out sideways like bookends; he moved the flesh one, then the metal one.

"A what?" Sam said.

"You know, like an 'after' type person. Sam, part two."

"Oh," Sam said. "Yup."

"You're pretty good at it," Bucky said.


End file.
